


Now That We're Here

by iaintafraidofnoghostbear



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear
Summary: If asked, Mitch couldn’t say how far the trek between his old home and this one was. He knew it was far, but so much of it was spent inside a wagon for him that he lost track of the days and nights.
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Ivan Provorov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 191





	Now That We're Here

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to trashcoon and eyeslikeonyx for the cheerleading and the beta. <3

If asked, Mitch couldn’t say how far the trek between his old home and this one was. He knew it was far, but so much of it was spent inside a wagon for him that he lost track of the days and nights. Only one guard would allow him out occasionally to stretch his legs, but even then he couldn’t account for the passage of time. 

He’d tried to find it in himself to mourn for his dead alpha, but the man hadn’t been a mate. He’d used Mitch to produce children and - according to him - Mitch had failed him even in that. Both of their young had been omegas, whisked right from Mitch’s arms to a wet nurse before the next one was put in his belly. Quietly, he’s glad the last few attempts didn’t take; his alpha had gone off to war and Mitch had waited anxiously, breathing a sigh of relief when the symptoms of pregnancy never came. 

Of course, his alpha had returned, but with the armies of the Provorovs hot on his heels. Mitch still shudders to think of it; there had been screaming and fire and men had dragged him from his chambers to be presented before King Vladimir himself. He’d been half sure he would be killed; he was the king’s omega, after all. Yet, King Vladimir had studied him and ordered the men to load Mitch along with the other captives who would be brought back to his kingdom. 

And, now, Mitch is here, with Vladimir’s oldest son as his new husband. Ivan pours him more wine, entirely the attentive alpha in front of their wedding party. Mitch drinks obediently, eating until he’s full; he’s learned by now to never take plentiful food for granted. 

The hour is late by the time they’re allowed to take their leave from the party, Ivan giving one last toast to his people before they go. Mitch is surprised to not be strong-armed along like he has been up to this point. Ivan simply leads him to their rooms, as tastefully and warmly decorated as the rest of the castle. His things have been moved from his temporary quarters, the familiar sight of his trunks soothing some of his anxiety. 

Mitch follows Ivan’s lead and begins to undress, draping his bodice and heavy skirts over one of the chairs to be collected by one of the servants for cleaning. He’s slipped out of his petticoats before heavy hands land on his waist. Mitch swallows, taking a slow breath and allowing the fabric to fall from his fingers. 

“Let me help?” Ivan’s quiet voice comes as he gently plucks at the laces of Mitch’s corset. Mitch nods and braces himself against the chairback. Ivan’s careful with it. Mitch had expected him to rip at the laces to get him out of it sooner rather than later; instead, he loosens them bit by bit until Mitch can ease it off from around his torso. Those hands land on his hips again, rubbing gently up his sides, trailing toward his front. Ivan coaxes Mitch into his arms, his nose brushing along the nape of Mitch’s neck. “You’re lovely.” 

Mitch hums in acknowledgement, lifting his arms to allow Ivan to draw his chemise up and over his head. He turns when prompted by Ivan’s hands, letting himself be looked at. Part of him wants to hide the softness of his chest and lower belly, the only remaining evidence of his previous pregnancies, but one of Ivan’s hands traces him from collarbone down to his stomach before Mitch is drawn close again. Ivan is naked as well, cock heavy between his legs. He’s well-muscled, scarred from battle already, and there’s a prickle of instinctive pleasure that Mitch has managed to be paired with a worthy alpha. He pushes it away and tips his head back for the kiss Ivan presses to his mouth. It’s sweet, searching, but Mitch can feel the hard length of his new husband’s cock against his leg and knows that sweet will only last so long. 

Ivan pulls back the heavy covers and sprawls Mitch out on them, kneeling up between his legs and just looking for another long moment. Idly, his hands pet at Mitch’s thighs, sliding up his stomach to fondle his chest. The scent of Ivan’s want combines with his touch and has Mitch wet, ready for it when Ivan spreads Mitch’s legs further and guides his cock inside. It’s a slow stretch, burning a little around the thickest part of his cock, but it fades when Ivan pauses, pressing more kisses to Mitch’s lips and down to his throat. 

Wrapping his arms around Ivan’s shoulders, Mitch waits, sighing a little here and there so he’s not too quiet. He’s not expecting for Ivan to take it slow, rocking his hips until he manages to actually find the spot inside Mitch that makes him keen despite himself. Ivan nips his throat, hand toying with one of Mitch’s nipples as he hits that spot over and over, until Mitch’s nails are digging into his back. He’s aware that he’s making embarrassingly loud noises, but there’s no holding them in when Ivan speeds up, fucking him harder until Mitch tosses his head back in supplication, begging this alpha for  _ everything _ with his body. 

Ivan’s knot pops at the same time his teeth sink into Mitch’s neck above his old claim mark, the pain and pleasure so much that Mitch can’t help but scream. He’s tearing at Ivan’s back, but Ivan holds on, making sure the claim mark takes until Mitch is limp and whimpering. Gently, fangs are slid out of his skin and Ivan’s warm tongue laps at the wound until it’s healing, pain fading as fast as it came. His knot is thick inside Mitch, a steady throb that seems to run right up through Mitch’s body. Mitch’s own cock is soft and wet between them now, his orgasm having come in the blinding rush of claiming. 

“Are you alright?” Ivan asks softly, lips brushing along Mitch’s cheek, catching on the tear tracks he hadn’t even realized were there until now. “I know it hurts, but it should be gone now, yeah?” 

Mitch considers it for a moment, but he has to admit Ivan is right. The pain of the bite has faded into a dull ache, like a bruise pressed upon; for a moment, Mitch feels a flash of hurt and anger that his last alpha had - he shakes his head, not wanting his scent to change too much and alert his new alpha to his thoughts. “Yes, thank you,” he murmurs. 

Truthfully, Mitch is a bit shaken. He can’t recall the last time he’d found release, nevermind with an alpha. His late husband had been less than … attentive, and Mitch had been raised too proper to ever touch himself, aware his alpha would be able to smell it on him and would likely disapprove. He’s a bit stunned to have been pleasured, to have gentle hands still exploring his body. Ivan pays his claim mark a bit more attention while they’re tied together, lapping at it until it hardly even aches. 

Mitch wants to blush when Ivan tips his hips up to keep him from making a mess of the bed when Ivan’s knot finally softens enough for them to untie. Ivan’s out of the bed in a flash, gone long enough for Mitch’s heart to sink before he’s back with a damp cloth and several rags. He helps to clean Mitch up, bundling up the dirtied fabric and leaving them with the rest of the wash. 

Drawing the covers back up, Ivan tucks Mitch close, his body heat quickly chasing out the chill that had crept in as the fire died down and their bodies cooled. As foolish as experience tells him it is, Mitch allows himself to relax, falling asleep sated and warm; it may be only a brief reprieve, but Mitch intends to take advantage of it, hoping to hold onto the memory of it in the face of the days to come. 

* * *

Slipping quietly into the sitting room, Mitch does his best to be unobtrusive as he makes his way to sit next to Ivan. There are a scattered number of the Provorov extended family, some dignitaries, and a handful of children in the space, the hum of chatter merry. Ivan graces him with a small smile before turning back to the man in a straight-backed chair he’s speaking with. 

Mitch refreshes their cups of tea out of habit before pouring one for himself, even if it gets him a rather quizzical look from both Ivan and the other man. He still hasn’t figured out all of the etiquette here, and Ivan seems somewhat loath to correct him, especially in front of others. It’s a type of kindness, Mitch supposes, although finding out he’d made the same mistake several times throughout one day before being corrected is more mortifying than anything. Idly, he wonders where Ivan’s breaking point is, what it would take for him to put Mitch in his place. 

He’s sunk into the memory of having spilt wine during dinner once, the remembered crack of his late husband’s hand across his face still vivid in his mind when Ivan gently touches his elbow, startling him so badly he’d have dropped his teacup if not for Ivan’s quick reflexes. 

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Ivan murmurs, placing Mitch’s cup and saucer back on the table. “Are you well?” 

Mitch keeps his eyes down, feeling his face burning. “Yes. I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I just thought I would check on you. I know this isn’t the most interesting, but I’m glad you joined us.” Ivan returns to his conversation, but it’s not much longer before people start taking their leave; winter still has the world in its grip, and the days are short. 

Soon enough, the only people remaining in the sitting room are Mitch, Ivan, his mother, and his little brother. Ivan is speaking with Venera about an upcoming party, and Mitch does his best not to fidget. It’s a surprise when Ivan’s brother crawls up into his lap and Ivan hardly misses a beat in his conversation, cradling his brother close and rocking him gently. Mitch has never had occasion up until now to be anywhere near the youngest Provorov child, and he’s sure he has to be hallucinating. 

Vladimir smells like an omega. 

Mitch takes a drink of tea, inhaling the scent of it to clear his nose and make sure that he’s not mistaken. Another deep breath brings him the soft scent of flowers, the trademark of a pre-pubescent omega. 

Shakily, Mitch puts his cup down, folding his hands in his lap. He takes purposefully slow breaths to calm himself, but he’s not sure if it helps. As he glances over again, he notes that Vladimir seems to have drifted off, his head cradled against his brother’s neck. Ivan holds him securely, but ceases his rocking as he speaks with his mother. 

MItch loses himself so thoroughly in trying to stay calm that he startles again when Venera stands, but no one seems to notice this time. Ivan’s hoisting Vladimir gently, shushing the boy when he stirs. 

“I’m going to take this one off to bed. I’ll see you in our rooms?” Ivan murmurs. 

Mitch gives him a nod, shakily getting to his feet and fleeing back to their rooms. He’d hoped to be asleep by the time Ivan made it back, but unfortunately his husband comes in just as Mitch has climbed in. Ivan undresses and settles behind him, one warm hand coming to rest on Mitch’s hip. He closes his eyes, half expecting Ivan to roll him onto his back and take him, but Ivan only snuggles close and buries his face against the back of Mitch’s neck. 

“Mama thought that you were upset. Is something wrong?” Ivan’s words make Mitch tense; he’d hoped that nothing would be said, but obviously that isn’t the case. If he were smart, he’d keep quiet, tell his husband that nothing is wrong. Instead, Mitch finds himself rolling over to face Ivan, the words escaping him before he can bite them back. 

“Your brother is an omega.” 

Surprise crosses Ivan’s face, and he raises a brow at Mitch’s non-question. “He is. That bothers you?” 

“No, I just -” Mitch bites his lip, hating that he can feel himself flushing and tearing up. He has to close his eyes for a moment when Ivan’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumbing away the tear that escapes. “I don’t understand.” 

“What, love?” 

Mitch wants to tear himself away, to hide from Ivan’s searching gaze, but he can’t. “You held him. He’s not - he’s here, and you-” Mitch breaks off, feeling even more ridiculous as it hits him that he’s  _ jealous _ of a little boy, but Ivan follows his meaning anyway. 

“I love him. We all do,” Ivan says slowly. “He’s my brother, and an omega, yes. Would - you weren’t held and rocked as a child?” Miserably, Mitch shakes his head. He tries to climb out of bed, but Ivan only grabs him and tugs him back in, holding him close. “Mitch. Tell me. Please?” 

It all spills out in an ugly, broken rush. The shame of being an omega, the fear and isolation, being married off to the king because it was the best station he could’ve hoped for. Learning to deal with the sex and the beatings and his husband’s quick temper. His confession peters out to nothing, leaving them in silence that feels like it might suffocate him if it doesn’t break. 

“Those bruises. The ones you had when you arrived. They weren’t from the battle, were they. They were from him.” All Mitch can do is nod. Ivan holds him tighter, pressing his face into Mitch’s hair as he takes a few slow, deep breaths. “I’d kill him if he weren’t already dead. Omegas are - they’re meant to be loved. Cherished. Everyone needs touch and physical affection, but omegas especially need it to be happy and healthy. They never should have denied you that, and they never should have made you ashamed to be what you are.” 

Ivan’s quiet for a while, his near-painful grip on Mitch easing gradually. He still keeps Mitch tucked close, but his hands start to rub gently at Mitch’s back. “You’ve been living in more fear than I expected, this entire time. I thought you’d be afraid because of how you came to be here; I never thought to consider you’d fear me as an alpha. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” 

Mitch sniffles into Ivan’s chest. It seems impossible that he’s getting an apology from an alpha, but Ivan’s scent is filled with sadness and regret. “Anything you need or want, please tell me. If you want to be held or rocked or left alone . . .” Something bitter spikes in Ivan’s scent, then, before it settles back into sadness. “I shouldn’t’ve lain with you. I won’t again, not unless you want to. I - I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“No, alpha.” That much is true. Although sex always makes Mitch nervous and isn’t something he looks forward to, it’s been far more tolerable with Ivan than it ever was with his old alpha. 

“Still. I’m sorry. Should I go?” 

Mitch finds himself clutching at Ivan’s shirt, a fine tremble running through him. “No, please - don’t leave me?” 

“Never, Mitch. Not as long as you want me here, alright?” Ivan wraps his arms more securely around Mitch’s body and starts up a gentle rocking motion. Mitch falls asleep with his face pressed into his alpha’s chest, surrounded by his scent. 

* * *

Ivan stays true to his word. He makes no attempt to bed Mitch again, only touching when he has explicit permission. It’s scary, but Mitch puts his promise to the test. He softly requests to be held, to be cuddled when they’re in bed, his belief in Ivan growing each time the alpha doesn't press for more. He can’t quite find it in himself to ask for physical items, but Ivan spoils him with those anyway; there are new clothes for winter, fiber and a beautiful set of needles for knitting, sweets that Mitch rations out so carefully that he winds up eating the last few in short order just to keep them from going bad. 

Once, Mitch considers asking Ivan to sleep elsewhere, only for the king to send his son off on a short diplomatic trip before winter takes them all in her grip. Mitch sleeps so poorly over the course of the week that Ivan wraps him up in his arms as soon as Mitch steps close. 

“You don’t look well. Should I send for a doctor?” Ivan asks gently, but Mitch only shakes his head. 

“I - I couldn’t sleep without you,” he admits, hating himself for being so weak until Ivan kisses his cheek. 

“Then let’s sleep.” 

Even if it’s the middle of the day, Ivan closes the heavy drapes around their bed, cocooning them in darkness. Mitch curls up against his chest and falls asleep immediately. It’s morning again when he wakes, and he knows that Ivan is awake behind him. 

“I’m sorry, you - you didn’t have to stay.” 

“I wanted to. I missed you. And you were sleeping so peacefully; I would’ve hated it if I woke you.” Ivan nuzzles him, purring for a little while. It makes Mitch melt back into his arms, vibrating in his chest. 

The door clicks open, and Ivan’s purr peters out. Together, they slip out of bed and tie the bed hangings back. A pair of servants unpacks a breakfast for them, complete with tea and a stack of envelopes for Ivan. Mitch eats while Ivan reads, noting the way his husband sighs heavily a couple of times. 

“Party season. Everyone’s last chance before winter makes it too hard to travel,” Ivan explains. “Mama will want us to attend at least a couple; people are curious to see you and it doesn’t look good for us if you’re kept entirely from the public eye for too long.” His tone is apologetic; Mitch can’t quite say he gets it, since he was never allowed to attend any kind of ball or party before, but he nods anyway. At least, he supposes, Venera seems a smart woman, kind, and he knows that she adores her children. 

The very next day, Mitch is fitted for a set of new dresses. They’re made to match Ivan’s suits, with gloves and shoes to go with them. Venera - as it turns out - has only promised their attendance at two parties besides the one the Provorovs themselves will host. 

Mitch is glad for the heavy fabric of the dress as well as the warming pan stashed beneath the blankets piled on them in the carriage as they head to the first party. The estate is, obviously, smaller than the palace, but the Giroux’s are obviously quite well off. Ivan hands Mitch down from the carriage and takes his arm almost immediately, leading him up the front walk. 

Their hosts greet them at the door, Ryanne’s honey-sweet omega scent putting some of Mitch’s nerves at ease when they exchange a brief hug. They’re waved along to a grand ballroom, lined with long tables laden with food and clusters of chairs for people to sit and chat. Ivan moves them from group to group, greeting the people he knows and waiting patiently to be introduced to those he doesn’t. He takes care of Mitch’s introductions for him, keeping an arm firmly around his waist. 

“He’s beautiful, Ivan,” a young alpha compliments, his hazel eyes trailing over Mitch in an appreciative but - thankfully - not lecherous way. “No wonder your letters are full of nothing but him.” 

“Hush, you.” Ivan has turned a bright shade of red when Mitch glances at him. His own cheeks are warm, and he wouldn’t dare say anything in front of this stranger, but Mitch has to wonder just what Ivan has said. 

“He’s quite the romantic,” the alpha goes on, grinning crookedly at Mitch. He’s handsome, in his own right; roguish in a way that Mitch is glad Ivan isn’t. “Don’t let him fool you. I’m really surprised he hasn’t-” 

He’s cut off, then, by a hand clamping over his mouth, a tall beta tugging him backward. “Don’t mind Travis. All he does is talk,” the beta mumbles, ignoring the indignant squawk the alpha gives. “I’m Nolan, Nolan Patrick. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you . . .” 

“Mitch.” It comes out nearly a whisper; no one else has expected Mitch to introduce himself, but Ivan didn’t speak for him, this time. 

“Mitch. We’re friends of Ivan’s, so hopefully we’ll be seeing you around. Claude wants our help with something, so please excuse us.” Nolan whisks Travis off, ignoring his complaints and questioning about their mysterious task, and Mitch watches them go, feeling a bit shell-shocked. 

“Sorry about him,” Ivan murmurs. “Travis has a big personality. He’s harmless, I promise.” 

“They’re your friends?” 

“They are. Nolan and I have known each other since we were young; Travis is his mate, and his family is quite close with the Giroux’s, so he often helps them with their estate and social events since their son is small, yet.” 

“He has a beta mate?” Mitch’s mind boggles at the idea; he’s never known an alpha to not pair with an omega. 

Gently, Ivan guides them further toward the edge of the room so they’re out of the way as they talk. He snags a glass of champagne for Mitch and a glass of red for himself before going on. “He does. I know it’s probably unheard of where you’re from, but it’s becoming more common, here. And they’re practically made for each other; I’ve never seen Nolan so happy. They’re planning to adopt, I think, though neither of them are ready for children just yet.” 

Mitch hums and takes a sip of champagne, doing his best not to wrinkle his nose. It’s dry and bitter on his tongue and he must not do very well in hiding his distaste. Ivan laughs softly, holding his own glass out. 

“Try this. If you don’t like it, we can find you something else.” 

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Mitch murmurs. 

Ivan’s expression goes soft at that. “You’re not, I promise. They have many things to drink; you could try all of them if you liked and no one would say a thing.” 

Taking a steadying breath, Mitch tries a sip of the wine. It’s tart, and he’s pretty sure he like this less than the champagne. Ivan waves over a waiter, who brings them a glass of white wine and promises to return swiftly with a glass of water, just in case. The white is better; it bursts sweet and almost floral across Mitch’s tongue, though only if he sips at it. Mitch welcomes the water, thanking the waiter softly for it. It chases out the last of the dry feeling left behind by the champagne and the red wine, and Mitch winds up abandoning the white as well. 

People stop by to chat with them, keeping most of their attention respectfully on Ivan. A few betas and omegas that know Ivan well greet Mitch directly, and he offers soft greetings of his own. 

Ryanne finds them after a while, checking in to make sure they’re doing well. “People are quite enamoured with your bride, Ivan,” she teases gently, but there’s genuine praise there, too. “I believe he’s made a very good impression.” 

“Mama will be pleased to hear you said so. They’ve been worried, since the end of the war.” Ivan glances at Mitch, tucking him close like he’s suddenly afraid someone will swoop in and snatch Mitch away from him. “There’s been so much dissent. . .” 

“There has. But things will settle, and people will realize it is for the better. Your father did the right thing.” Ryanne reaches out to pat Ivan’s hand briefly, keeping the touch chaste. “Please, let me know if there’s anything else you need. I should go make sure Claude and the boys haven’t gotten into anything they shouldn’t.” 

Mitch snuggles a little closer to Ivan, then, whispering in the alpha’s ear. “Am I causing trouble by being here?” 

“Not at all. Some of my people . . . they never believed that the people of Ontario could live peacefully with us, that they’d accept my father’s rule. A very loud faction still doesn’t believe it. But having you as my mate, having peace come so quickly once - once your mate was removed from power. It’s helped a great deal. And seeing us happy, with each other, that helps too.” Ivan kisses his cheek, nuzzling him lightly. “The public is funny, that way; avoid their eye too long and all sorts of rumors fly.” He pauses for another beat before asking, “Would you care to dance? I promise, I won’t let anyone else step in.” 

“I don’t know how,” Mitch admits, feeling embarrassment wash over him. 

“That’s fine. Just follow me. We’ll take it nice and slow.” 

They wait for the band to switch to a slower tune, joining other couples on the dancefloor. Ivan shows Mitch where to put his hands, and Mitch blushes when one of Ivan’s comes to rest at his waist. They sway to and fro to the beat of the music, making their slow way around the floor. Ivan gently turns down a couple of alphas who try to cut in; thankfully, neither balk when they realize they’ve attempted to come between the crown prince and his mate.

When the music ends, Ivan guides Mitch from the floor and to a pair of empty chairs. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he questions, offering Mitch a small smile when he shakes his head. Ivan flags down another waiter, asking for more water, and - soon enough - they have a small cluster of people around them. They’re all there to make conversation with Ivan, only giving Mitch a perfunctory greeting - except for one. 

This alpha keeps glancing at Mitch, a glint in his eye that makes Mitch lean closer to Ivan. He startles when Ivan growls suddenly, flinching back as Ivan gets to his feet. 

“You are being inappropriate,” Ivan bites out at the stranger. “You’re frightening my omega and I think you need to leave.” 

“It looks like you do well enough frightening your omega on your own,” the stranger bites back. His posture is all challenge as he stands, baring his teeth at Ivan and causing everyone around them to gasp. “Enjoying your Ontario war bride, Provorov?” 

In a flash, Ivan has lain the alpha out on the floor, growling fiercely. A hush has fallen over the room, and then Travis and Nolan are there, grabbing the offending alpha and dragging him off. 

“Ivan,” Claude appears from the midst of the crowd. “Please, accept my apology; I didn’t think I had invited anyone who would behave so badly.” 

“No apology needed; I know your guest doesn’t speak for you.” The color is high in Ivan’s cheeks, his scent icy and sharp until he turns and looks at Mitch. It softens quickly, and he carefully approaches Mitch, holding his hand out. Mitch takes it without hesitation, letting Ivan pull him up and into his arms, hiding his face from the crowd now staring and whispering around them. “Sorry, love.” Ivan murmurs into his hair. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” 

“You didn’t.” It’s not entirely true; instinctively, Mitch was afraid, but he knows his alpha was only defending him. 

“Come, sit with me.” They abandon their chairs in favor of a small sofa, Mitch tucking tightly into Ivan’s side, his face against Ivan’s neck. Slowly but surely, the conversation in the room picks back up. 

“The nerve,” one of the alphas they’d been conversing with snarls. “You think Tavares would have more respect.” 

“Ontario loyalist! Let’s not speak of him. Look at how upset the omega is,” another murmurs. 

Closing his eyes, Mitch hides his face. He’s grateful that no one expects him to talk, now. Lulled by Ivan’s warmth and the low chatter, as well as the steady rhythm of the music, Mitch drifts off to sleep. He’s awoken by Ivan shifting, and he can hear someone talking about him. 

“Poor sweet thing. You must take such good care of him for him to fall asleep like that.” 

“I try,” Ivan say softly. He strokes Mitch’s back lightly. “I think he’s awake now, though. If you’re ready, love, Claude has called our carriage up for us.” 

“Yes, alpha.” 

They say their goodbyes, and Mitch allows Ivan to bundle him up. 

“Please extend our apology to your parents,” Ryanne asks as she gives them each a hug goodbye. “Tavares won’t be invited to any further gatherings, and I don’t doubt he’ll be left off of the invite lists of others as well.” 

“I will.” Ivan gives her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t fret. I have no doubt that my father will be upset, but not with you.” 

The night is bitterly cold, but the carriage is warmer, especially once they’re tucked in. Mitch is hard put to not fall back asleep, especially when Ivan wraps an arm around him. 

“Rest, Mitch. I’ll wake you when we get home.” 

He doesn’t quite manage to fall into a solid slumber, but Mitch does doze. He hardly remembers the trip up to their rooms, and is grateful for the familiar softness of their bed. 

Ivan is gone in the morning. Breakfast is laid out for two, so Mitch assume he’ll be back. When he does slip in through their bedroom door, his expression is stormy and tired. Still, he offers Mitch a smile as he crosses the room to take a seat at the table. 

“Good morning, alpha.” 

“Good morning. I’m sorry I’m late. My father wanted to speak with me.” 

“Are things . . . alright?” Mitch asks carefully. 

Ivan frowns, looking down at his tea as he stirs it. “Yes and no. He was angry about the incident last night. There’s more unrest lingering than he would like. But Mama says you made quite the impression; she’s already received a few letters on our behalf complimenting our match.” Ivan is quiet for a few moments, so Mitch waits for him to go on. “I worry. Tavares is not the only person who feels that we are brutes, that you are - being mistreated and are an example of what will happen to all of the omegas in Ontario.” 

“They . . . they don’t know how he treated me, do they?” Ivan looks up at Mitch, then, expression sad. He laughs tearfully, seeing the answer in his alpha’s face. “They don’t know he beat me? That he snatched my children, hid them away God only knows where so I could never see them, so my body would crave another baby because he wanted an alpha?” 

“He what?” Ivan’s voice is tight, his face gone pale. “You have children?”

“I- I mean-” Mitch’s heart starts to race, the scent of angry alpha quickly filling the room.

“Mitch. Please. I’m not angry at you, I swear. Please tell me.” 

“Two.” It comes out a whisper, Mitch closing his eyes because he’s too afraid to meet Ivan’s. “Omegas. Both boys. I didn’t - I didn’t know if you would accept another alpha’s bastard offspring. I know my last alpha wouldn’t have.” 

“Look at me?” Ivan entreats. His hand takes one of Mitch’s, coaxing it to unclench, and his eyes are soft when Mitch dares to look. “They’re your children, Mitch. We’ll search for them. There are still several of the servants who served you that serve under the Svechnikovs; they may know where your sons are. And when we find them, I will accept them gladly.” 

“But why?” 

“You deserve to have them with you, to know they’re safe.” Ivan reaches for Mitch’s hand, then, squeezing it gently. “Please know they’re in no danger from me.” 

Waiting for word to be sent back to Ontario is agonizing. They attend another party, and host one themselves; thankfully, the man Tavares doesn’t make an appearance at either, and Mitch is relieved. A few people are cold to him, only stiffly polite to Ivan, but many are clearly friends and loyal to the Provorovs.

Mitch is taking dinner in the great hall, the royal family entertaining the remaining guests who were forced to spend the night due to poor weather. There’s yelling and clattering from the hall that has Ivan on his feet before the guard spill through the doors. 

“There’s an uprising, your majesty. Rebels.” 

In a moment, several more alphas are on their feet, following Ivan and his father out of the great hall in a flood. Mitch’s heart pounds in his chest; he’s never been out of their rooms without Ivan, not since he arrived. It’s Venera who takes him by the arm, pulling him to his feet and guiding him back upstairs. 

“They’ll be back, safe and sound,” she promises softly. “Stay here. Someone will come with word. I need to oversee the castle.” 

Mitch shakes, overcome with a chill that won’t leave even when he’s huddled near the fire. A serving girl comes in with tea, splashing a touch of brandy into it before pressing it into his hands. He’s finished the pot before there’s a soft knock at the door, one of the guards that usually stands outside their rooms stepping inside. 

“His Highness, the prince, is on his way back, m’lord. The rebels were quelled.” 

“T-thank you, Jared.” 

The man bows his head briefly before stepping back outside. It is a while longer before the door creaks open and Ivan steps through, looking weary. There’s blood on his clothes and a clean, white bandage showing beneath his torn shirt. 

“Ivan,” Mitch gasps, crossing the room and barely refraining from throwing himself into his alpha’s arms. Instead, Ivan reels him in, tucking him against his uninjured side. “You’re hurt.” 

“I’m fine. It’s long, but not deep,” Ivan murmurs. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. I’m sure you were scared.” 

“Is - are things okay?” 

“Yes,” Ivan presses a kiss to the side of his head, voice warm if tired. “They were a small group. Several surrendered once they realized they were outnumbered, but a few put up a serious fight. There was a lot of investigating to do; there still is, but there are others who are tending to do that. Hopefully this quiets things down, some. But for now, let’s sleep, hm?” 

Mitch is careful to curl into Ivan’s uninjured side, curling his fingers into Ivan’s sleep shirt. He hardly sleeps, watching pre-dawn creep up through the window. It’s stupid, foolish, but Mitch slips out of bed, shrugging on his dressing gown. 

The castle is quiet, seemingly empty at this time of day. Mitch isn’t expecting the soft fall of footsteps behind him or the hand that lands over his mouth, another twisting his arm behind his back. “Shh, your highness. Come on.” 

Mitch whimpers, but has no choice but to cooperate. He’s lead through some passageways he’s never seen before, ones that he assumes the servants must use at times. Dawn is barely breaking as he’s shoved outside, the snow biting harshly at his bare feet and ankles. His captor doesn’t care, shoving him along quickly until they’re slipping out of a side gate where another group of men are waiting. 

“Here,” the man holding him hisses, pushing him into the arms of another alpha. Mitch manages to turn just enough to catch a glimpse, sucking in a breath when he catches sight of the guard. 

“Jared?” 

Jared, at least, manages to look apologetic. “Sorry, your highness. But there’s no other way.” 

Mitch tries to speak again, only for a rag to be pressed over his nose and mouth. He whimpers again as consciousness slips away, sending a weak prayer to whoever might be listening that Ivan finds him. 

* * *

  
  


Mitch’s head aches when he wakes, and his mouth feels horribly dry. He manages to push himself up part way until dizziness hits him, forcing him to lay back down. It takes a while for it to pass and for Mitch to coax himself to move. 

The room around him is sparse: only the bed he’s in, a small side table, and a washbasin visible. It’s poorly lit, and the lone window is boarded over. Thankfully, there is a pitcher of water and a cup on the side table. Mitch manages to get up and shuffle the short distance between him and it. He drinks deeply, glad to be rid of the dryness and foul taste. It helps ease his headache, some, too, and he feels much better after a second cup. 

Not long after he wakes, the door rattles and swings open. Mitch’s heart sinks when Tavares walks through the door, face blank as he looks Mitch over. 

“I’m glad to see you’re unharmed,” the man says finally. 

“Are you?” It seems unlikely, and Mitch is quietly gratified that a flicker of surprise crosses Tavares’ face at that. 

“I am. The Provorovs-” 

“Have been nothing but kind to me. I want to go  _ home _ to my  _ husband _ .” Mitch flinches internally when Tavares’ expression turns stormy before smoothing out again. 

“They’ve brainwashed you. Don’t worry, your Highness. We’ll have you out of here soon enough, and the Provorovs will pay for what they’ve done.” 

The door all but slams behind him, and Mitch can hear the lock click into place. He’s unsure how long he’s been asleep, but it seems a long while later before the door opens again. This time, the person that comes through is an omega with a collar around his neck. It’s tight enough that Mitch can tell it’s chafing, and it makes him wince. The omega slips out before he can say anything, though, and Mitch isn’t about to turn down food, in case he gets a chance to run. 

Mitch loses all track of time in his small, dim room. He thinks that the arrival of the omega with meals should mark the time, but it’s hard to be sure. No one else comes to see him or check on him, and Mitch wonders just what his purpose is here. 

“What’s your name?” Mitch asks the omega softly when he’s brought Mitch’s dinner. The omega’s hand startles as he sets down a full pitcher of water, sloshing a little over the side. “I’m Mitch.” 

Blue eyes glance over at him before dropping back down. “Morgan, your highness.” 

“Morgan. That collar looks like it hurts.” Morgan doesn’t respond, stacking the dirty dishes from lunch onto the tray he bears. “Could I loosen it for you?” 

“No,” Morgan whispers. “Omegas are supposed to wear their collars.” 

“My alpha doesn’t make me wear one. None of the alphas here do.” 

“It’s how it is, where my alpha is from.” Morgan doesn’t say anything else, slipping out and locking the door behind him. Still, Mitch tries again when Morgan comes back in the morning. 

“Morgan. I need to go home. Would you help me? I need to get back to my alpha.” 

The plates clatter with how hard Morgan’s hands start to shake. He leaves abandons the tray altogether, striding out of the room. Mitch regrets upsetting him later when Morgan comes back, a bruise evident on his pale cheek. 

“Did your alpha do that?” Mitch murmurs, sighing when Morgan nods. “Because you forgot the tray?” Another nod. “I’m sorry. I made you nervous. I’m sorry he hurt you.” 

Morgan looks at him then, eyes bloodshot. His eyes trail from Mitch’s face down to his neck and bare arms. Only then does Mitch realize there are bruises on Morgan’s wrists and faint fingermarks starting to darken on his throat. 

“Please, Morgan,” Mitch says softly. “I just need some shoes. If we could get out, my alpha would make sure he never hurts you again. I promise.” 

Morgan doesn’t say anything before leaving. He’s quiet, hustling out the next few times he brings Mitch’s meals. Mitch has nearly given up, trying to figure out another way to escape when Morgan wakes him in the middle of the night. 

Mitch is confused, at first, but Morgan holds a finger up to his lips, hushing him. He holds up a tattered pair of boots that are too big but Mitch shoves his feet into them and laces them up anyway. He’s still only in his chemise, but he has to try to run. 

Morgan leads him down a back staircase, easing a open a door that swings on well-oiled hinges. They slip out into the alley and Mitch is immediately chilled. He only makes a few steps before he realizes Morgan isn’t following. 

“Morgan,” he whispers, holding his hand out toward the other omega. “C’mon. You know he’s going to hurt you if he finds out. Come with me. Let me keep you safe. I promise, my alpha will help you.” 

Morgan waffles for a moment, long enough that a shout echoes from upstairs. His eyes go wide, and then he’s sprinting off the step, grabbing Mitch’s hand and tugging him along. They make it to the main road before footsteps start catching up with them. 

“They’re here!” someone shouts, and Mitch tries to press on faster only to slip. Morgan tries to catch him, but they both go down in a heap, the freezing slush taking Mitch’s breath away. He manages to turn over, watching the stranger’s approach in horror for a moment before an arrow lodges itself in the middle of the man’s throat. 

Men are suddenly pouring past him toward the handful that had been pursuing them, and it takes Mitch a moment to realize they’re Ivan’s.

“Your highness,” a soft voice says, and Mitch looks up to see Frederik, one of Ivan’s captains, reaching for him. “You must be freezing.” Frederik pulls him to his feet, sweeping the cloak of his shoulders and wrapping it securely around Mitch. “And who is this?” he asks, turning his attention to Morgan. 

“His name is Morgan. He - he helped me. We can’t let them take him back, Frederik, please.” Mitch’s teeth are chattering, but Frederik nods seriously. 

“Of course, your Highness. Come, let’s get away from here. The others will deal with that lot. We’ve got rooms at the inn; we should get you warmed up.” 

Part of Mitch is nervous, remembering Jared’s betrayal, but Frederik proves true. The soldiers have most of the rooms in the inn, and Mitch and Morgan are quickly taken to one. One of the innkeepers brings them warmer clothes and heavy blankets, putting hot water on and promising stew when she returns. 

They wind up huddled together, clutching rough-hewn bowls of rich stew. But Mitch is warm and finally feels safe, especially when the other men return with word that his captors have all been either killed or captured themselves. They’re allowed to stay together, curling up in the same bed when Morgan proves to be too frightened of the soldiers to want to leave Mitch’s side. 

“Sleep, your Highness. We’ll have you back to the Prince in no time,” Frederik promises before shutting the door, taking his post outside. 

  
  


* * *

Mitch is bundled up against Frederik’s chest as they ride up to the castle gate. Morgan is on another horse nearby, with a quiet but sweet alpha named Jake. Although it is long past nightfall, a loud cry goes up when they’re spotted, and the front door is open before they’ve even neared it. Ivan dashes out to meet him, still in his armor. Mitch falls into his arms after being gently deposited on the ground by Frederik. 

“Gods, Mitch. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry it took us so long. Are you hurt?” Ivan says desperately, holding his face and looking him over. 

“No, I’m alright. Are you?” Ivan is unshaven, hair hanging limply and with dark shadows beneath his eyes. 

“He hasn’t rested a bit since you were taken,” Venera tells him, giving Mitch a gentle hug herself before they head into the castle. 

Mitch is fussed over more, asked to tell them all the details of his capture, who he could remember participating and where all he was he kept. He tells as much as he can, watching in a cold satisfaction when Misha - another captain - slips out of the room immediately when he mentions Jared’s participation. 

“Can you help him?” Mitch pleads softly. He related what he knew of Morgan’s story - which wasn’t much - but he hopes Morgan’s sorry state speaks for itself. 

“Of course.” It’s Venera who answers, instead of Vladimir or Ivan. “Frederik. Take him to one of the guest rooms. I’ll send for the doctor.” 

Mitch gives Morgan’s hand a squeeze and has to promise he’ll come find him soon before Morgan will go. Frederik’s hand rests gently on the omega’s back, guiding him slowly from the room. 

“What a hypocrite, calling us monsters then working with an alpha who would treat an omega that way,” Ivan grumbles. 

“Mercenaries, probably.” Vladimir has been mostly silent, up until now. Mitch glances at him, flushing when their eyes meet but the king only offers him a faint smile that is a ghost of his son’s. “We’ll know more when they’ve been questioned, but desperate men will do desperate things. He’ll be safe, here; for helping you, he’ll have his choice of mate, I think.” 

Mitch nods, murmuring his thanks. He thinks briefly of Frederik and the care he’d shown Morgan, the way he’d slowed their horse now and again to check on him even though he was perfectly safe with Jake; quietly, he offers up a small prayer to the gods, hoping they find their way to each other.

Eventually, Ivan is allowed to take Mitch back upstairs to their quarters. He stops just outside the door, gathering Mitch close and scenting him deeply. 

“I feared I lost you,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m so very sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” 

“I know you did your best. And I’m safe now.” Mitch clings back, glad to finally have the scent of strange alpha and that tiny room out of his nose, replaced with Ivan’s familiar warmth. 

Ivan steps back, hands on Mitch’s shoulders. “I - I know the timing isn’t the best, after what you’ve been through, but I wouldn’t feel right keeping this from you.” 

“What - What are you talking about?” Mitch asks, nerves making his heart race. He follows Ivan through the door into their rooms, and through another to the adjoining space that had been nearly empty the last time he’d been here. Now, it’s occupied by a crib and a small bed, and Mitch freezes in the doorway. 

“Andrei arrived with them two days ago. They were in the care of the wetnurse and her family; they’d fled to another village when the war escalated, but she told them stories about you.” 

Mitch feels like he’s in a dream, shakily making his way across to the little bed. The boy inside can’t be more than four, his hair dark against his pale skin. He sighs in his sleep, burrowing further under the covers. His scent is cool and sweet, like fall air off a stream and Mitch tears up at the scent; it’s exactly like his mother’s. The same is true of the other boy, sprawled in his crib. His hair is lighter, soft little curls under Mitch’s fingers. 

Ivan’s arms wrap around Mitch from behind, holding him gently. Gratefully, Mitch leans back against Ivan’s solid form, taking a few moments to breathe. 

“They found them.” 

“They did.” Ivan’s voice is gente, his arms holding Mitch steady. 

Twisting in Ivan’s arms, Mitch brings their mouths together, clinging desperately to Ivan as emotions wash over him. “Thank you. I - I was so afraid that I would never see them again.” 

“I’m glad they’re safe. And I’m glad you’re home,” Ivan murmurs. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” 

Mitch laughs, burying his face against Ivan’s chest. Together, they gently shut the nursery door, only leaving it a crack so Mitch can hear if the children wake. They curl up in bed, Mitch held tightly in Ivan’s arms, head tucked under his alpha’s chin. 

He’s home.


End file.
